


Reluctantly Acquainted

by The_Lochness_Monster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamione Coven's Valentine's Event 2021, Discord: Bellamione Coven, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29413041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lochness_Monster/pseuds/The_Lochness_Monster
Summary: Narcissa was loathe to admit she was wrong, but perhaps she had too hastily formed her opinion of the black haired beast Hermione had brought home that fateful day. Perhaps.Prompt 8: "I guess we adopted a cat together, how bad could it be…"
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 98





	Reluctantly Acquainted

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Bellamione Coven discord's valentine event's SFW prompt 8: I guess we adopted a cat together, how bad could it be…  
> The discord is also home to cissamione/andromione so come on over if you're interested! https://discord.gg/rAKhWJQ
> 
> I read this through exactly once so if there are any mistakes kindly pretend you didn't see them :D  
> (jk plz tell me)

She couldn’t for the life of her understand why the blasted thing had to be  _ here _ ,  _ now _ . The house certainly had no shortage of rooms. There were expansive grounds that stretched for acres with plenty of flowerbeds to destroy, rodents to chase, and bushes to shred. But no, it had to be curled up on the armchair facing her, its beady eyes boring into her own with an intelligence she refused to acknowledge. She wasn’t in the mood to be reminded of its presence (indeed, she rarely was). She tapped her ring on the glass table next to her hoping the shrill tink would drive the beast to finally relinquish whatever misguided desire it had to haunt her. No dice. She started to hum under breath, quietly at first but increasing in volume and desperation until it was little more than a shriek. Having had quite enough, she finally spoke, “Oh do leave. We both know you don’t want to be here anyway.” 

The thing just stared. Always, it stared. It had been like this since that night it was brought into their quiet and pleasant home with seemingly the sole purpose of making her life a living hell of torn upholstery and interrupted sleep.

She broke eye contact to look around the room. It was nice. It was comfortable. It was proper. It was just as elegant as the manor she had grown up in, with none of the dark undertones or skeletons in its closets. Her mother, may she rest in distress, would be appalled that the creature was even allowed in the house, nevermind the living room. Had she been younger, the memory of her mother would have been enough to cause her to discreetly wipe sweaty palms; but time tends to wash over the sharp edge of hurt until its blade is dull enough to touch, and now she was able to reminisce with the satisfaction of someone who has improved their station.

She glanced at the grandfather clock. 1 am. In the absence of her unsuccessful attempts to drive the creature away, the chimes of the old clock rose to fill the otherwise silent night. Tick, tick, tick. It seemed that they grew louder each second until they were nearly deafening and she was left gripping her wand ready to blast the bloody thing apart in a fit of familiar, uncontrolled rage. She had barely stood up before something brushed against her leg. She looked down.  _ It _ was woven between her legs. She was sure its thick black hair would stick to her carefully laundered robes. There was no respite from annoyance; she knew from experience she would be picking out its hair from this set of robes for weeks to come (was it charmed to stick? Was it cursed?). 

“Look what you’ve do-” 

Oh.  _ It was clever, wasn’t it _ ? Even she could begrudgingly admit it. The grip on her wand already lessened as she felt the anger seep out of her in an anticlimatic huff. The ticks of the clock had fallen into the background once more, and the air felt as much as it sounded, still. 

With a flick of her wand, she lit the fireplace. One of the many books on the coffee table in front of her thumped to the floor.  _ It  _ had knocked it down. The book was an old favorite: one her sisters used to read to her to calm her down after an… unpleasant evening with their parents. She bent down to pick it up, trying to dispel the evidence she had been sitting rigidly for hours, but every crack and groan of her body made her woefully aware of just how long she had already waited for. 

Without preamble, she fell back into the plush couch, kicking off her heels in defeat and extending her legs out. 

She opened it tentatively, cracking the worn spine and running a finger against its first page in a caress. In the corner, just as she remembered, was Bella’s messy, unpracticed scrawl: 

_ For Cissy,  _

_ Chin up. Don’t let the bats get you down.  _

_ Love,  _

_ Your FAVORITE sister _

Her smile was bittersweet as she was drawn back to memories she hadn’t lingered on in years. She glanced at the fireplace once more. Nothing. She sighed, turned the page, and began to read. 

Not ten minutes later something-  _ it, _ she realized as she looked down- had jumped on the opposite end of the couch. She had half a mind to kick it off but reasoned that it wasn’t hurting anything just sitting there, and resumed her reading as she tried her hardest to ignore the concentrated chaos not four feet away. 

She couldn’t be sure when it had happened, only that it had; the cat had managed to creep its way closer to her until eventually, it had mustered up the resolve to take a careful step onto her body. She pretended it hadn’t. It, in turn, continued upward until it finally reached her stomach and forced her to lift the book upward in annoyance so it could continue its path.  _ It truly was an impertinent creature,  _ she thought as it curled up on her chest and began to purr.  _ Impertinent, but perhaps not entirely unpleasant.  _ She tried not to think more about it as she adjusted her grip on her book to allow her to pet the cat,  _ Jefferson _ , absentmindedly.  __

It was a departure from their usual interactions. Narcissa had to acquiesce that it wasn’t an entirely unwelcome change; Jefferson’s fur was at least pleasant enough to pet. Besides, it wasn’t as if Hermione would see. She shuddered to think of the smugness that would exude from the witch if she were to witness this. Hermione had always been so certain that Narcissa and Jefferson would get along, even from the very first night.

* * *

It had been a cold, dreary winter’s day; one where the chill in the air settles on one’s skin and refuses to dissipate. She looked out the window, seeing nothing but cloudy skies and brown grass. A shiver ran through her as if in sympathy of the birds forced to brave the unpleasantness that lay outside her walls. Narcissa drew her robe closer against herself and sunk into the stiff armchair as she carefully gently blew on the freshly brewed tea. 

It truly was a horrid morning. She loved it. The corners of her mouth lifted as she planned out her day: first, a cup of tea; next, a bit of reading; then, a lovely soup for lu- the fire turned green, and a woman stumbled out, barely catching herself before she fell on her knees. 

Narcissa rolled her eyes. 

“How do you manage to stumble  _ every _ time?”

She had expected a quick-witted response, equally as biting as it was charming. Instead, she was given a, “Well I had a handful this time!” and a blinding smile that crinkled the corner of her eyes and left no doubt to the sincerity of her emotion.

Finally, Narcissa’s eyes flickered down to the beast of an animal clutched to Hermione’s chest. 

“No,” She said simply.

“Bu-”

“No.”

“You can’t be serious! He  _ chose _ me! I have to take him in!”

“And how,  _ dear _ , does a cat choose?”

Hermione beamed. Narcissa knew that look; rarely did it bode well for her. Try as she might, she couldn’t deny that Hermione knew Narcissa quite well. Better than anyone. If she was inclined toward cheap clichés she would even have ventured to say the other witch knew her better than she knew herself. 

The next thing she knew an hour had passed and the cat was. Still. Here. Hermione had gone off to shower leaving the two, in her own words, “to get acquainted.” Instead, they stared each other down. Narcissa refused to lose to a bloody cat.

* * *

One month had not improved their relationship. Getting “acquainted” had amounted to nothing more than coming to something akin to an unspoken truce. When Hermione was present they would play nicely;  _ it  _ would either curl up in Hermione’s lap or lounge by the fireplace. They tolerated one another (largely ignored) for no reason other than to please Hermione, but the moment the brunette left the room, the pair would devolve into a tense standoff that inevitably ended with a blasting spell narrowly missing the cat or the end of Narcissa’s robes been torn by long, sharp claws. 

So when Hermione stood up from her favorite armchair to grab a cup of tea (why she always refused to summon their house elf, Nixy, Narcissa hadn’t the foggiest) Narcissa’s eyes narrowed to slits as she watched the cat flick its tail mockingly from its perch on the windowsill. She reached out to grab her wand on the coffee table. The cat’s tail stopped moving. Her grip tightened in response. It moved slowly, quietly winding its body up until it was ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. The pair waited for the other to make the first move. It wasn’t a matter of  _ if _ one would be made, but  _ when _ . Narcissa began to flick her wrist when a voice interrupted. 

“You know, you two are pretty similar.” Hermione had returned, cupping a mug in both hands and leaning against the door frame. 

“And just how long have you been there?” 

Hermione shrugged. “Long enough to see you get in a pissing contest with a house cat.” She didn’t bother trying to hide her amusement at the older woman. They knew each other far too well: Narcissa would be able to spot it despite her best efforts, and so, Hermione made none.

“I did  _ not _ get in a ‘pissing’ contest with that  _ thing _ ,” Narcissa responded, spitting the last word out with vitriol once long ago reserved for those like Hermione. 

Hermione raised an eyebrow and smiled, “No? So I didn’t just see you about to hex Jefferson?”

The cat,  _ Jefferson, _ now wove through Hermione’s legs as he purred contently. If cats were capable of being smug, he most certainly was, glaring at Narcissa with a look that screamed victory and superiority. 

“A complete coincidence, I assure you. The sun was a spot too warm, I was merely about to close the curtains before you interrupted.” 

Hermione walked up to the couch and sat next to Narcissa, nodding seriously as she said, “yes, it is quite bright out.”

At that moment- Narcissa was sure the Gods intervened to punish her for her past sins- thunder boomed in the distance and the rain, which had been no more than a drizzle before, turned torrential, pelting the windows in a show of force.

* * *

Hermione had just come from one of the more horrific missions she had ever had the displeasure of leading. Ten years at the helm of the Department of Mysteries and she had never once come close to experiencing the level of inadequacy and ineptitude displayed in her subordinates today. She had thought that Rome two years ago would forever hold the title, but oh no, her employees had decided to one-up themselves once more and leave her questioning how they managed to tie their shoelaces each morning.

The halls of the Ministry were silent as she stalked through them, mercifully devoid of workers. Truthfully, she didn’t know what she would do if she was forced to see another person. Her anger radiated outward in waves, causing her hair to tingle and her eyes to dilate. Rage was not such an unfamiliar emotion to her, rather it had once been in plentiful abundance, but circumstances had changed and these days she was known more for her calm but cool temperament than the righteous indignation of yesteryear. Perhaps it was her choice of partner or perhaps it was simply maturing, but whatever the reason, she had since settled into her pragmatism while shedding the worst of impulsiveness somewhere along the way. 

It was, however, still present. In times of great stress and remarkable uncertainty, it reared its head with a vicious determination, as if punishing her for keeping it locked away for so long. In those moments, Hermione found it exceedingly difficult to ignore. 

She was attempting to do so now. A part of her wanted to turn right around and continue to ream out the complete and utter  _ idiots _ for their showing of gross moronity, hex them to stick to their desks, and not let them out of the office until they had accounted for the entirety of their many, many mistakes. But she didn’t. No, this time she was able to drown out the impulse with another emotion: fear. 

Admittedly, it wasn’t quite  _ fear _ (perhaps trepidation would best suit) but was enough to force her in the direction of the floos and her legs to quicken with each echoing step. The large clock that sat atop the main entrance struck 2 in the morning just as Hermione entered the cavernous room. She winced. Narcissa was not going to be pleased. Not at all. The witch was known for her less than friendly nature, but to Hermione, she was nothing but soft smiles and warm embraces- which meant that on the rare occasions the Ice Queen directed her infamous coolness to her, it felt all the more chilled and all the more painful. 

Maybe she had already retired for the night? It was late after all. Her rational side knew that this was unlikely, but the alternative was not something she wanted to consider. She picked up a handful of powder and ducked into one of the fireplaces. With a deep breath and a silent prayer, she called out, “Seahill Manor,” and disappeared with a whoosh. 

She was expecting to be met with yelling, or a cold disappointed voice, or even a well-aimed jinx. What she wasn’t expecting, was complete and utter silence. The living room was only illuminated by the gentle flame of the fireplace she had just stepped out of and the dull light of the small lamp next to the couch. 

The anger that had been gathering continuously over the last several hours morphed into disbelief and amusement. Narcissa was on her back stretched out on the couch, one hand dangling off the edge and the other resting on none other than a curled up Jefferson asleep on her chest. 

Hermione quietly walked over to the pair. She knelt by the side of the couch and reached a hand out to gently stroke the other witch’s ruffled hair until she began to shift in her sleep. When Hermione was certain Narcissa was moments from waking she bent over to place a soft kiss on her forehead. 

Narcissa, still half asleep, smiled dopily at Hermione when her eyes finally blinked open. Her mind, not yet functional enough to remember to be cross, settled instead on lazy bliss, content to simply be in the younger witch’s company. That was until Hermione leaned forward again to whisper, “So I take it Jefferson will be allowed in our room now?”

**Author's Note:**

> Is this my favorite story? No, but it's written, so there.
> 
> I'd like to thank the academy, tea, and the spider in the corner of my room for their continuous support throughout this writing process. Truly, I don't know where I'd be without you three.


End file.
